


And Then There Were Three

by imyourplusone



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, inspired by 7.12, murder mystery mayhem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imyourplusone/pseuds/imyourplusone
Summary: “A Scottish isle in the dead of winter, a band of criminals and a stolen antiquity hiding a master spy list. What could possibly go wrong?”“Agent Keen, where is your sense of adventure?”
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen & Raymond Reddington, Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Comments: 39
Kudos: 123





	1. Poker Face

**Author's Note:**

> This is for all those times I'm watching an episode where Red is having the time of his life or a grand adventure and Liz is stuck back at the Post Office. So here is a little shoutout to 7.12 which reminded me of one of my favorite Agatha Christie mysteries _And Then There Were None._ Unlike the writers, I decided to invite Liz along for the fun.
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy.

“Knight to H3.”

Aram and Liz remain huddled in front of the laptop, neither showing surprise at Reddington’s sudden suggestion from over their shoulders.

“But that will sacrifice—”

“It will indeed, Agent Mojtabai, but you’ll close it out in two moves.”

True to his word, with a _check_ and _checkmate_ later, the game is complete and the agents turn to find the Most Wanted looking a bit pleased with himself.

“Who were you playing?”

“An eleven year old from Devonshire,” Aram mutters. “That’s the first match I’ve managed to win.”

“With a little help,” Liz reminds him with a smile.

“Things must be slow if the task force is reduced to mid-morning chess.”

“And who’s to blame for that, Reddington? You’re my CI so criminally inform, why don’t you?”

He chuckles at her raised eyebrow and walks around to the front of Aram’s desk to plop down his fedora. “As it happens, I am here to discuss an associate you are currently questioning.”

“What are you talking about? The only thing being questioned around here is your immunity deal for the lack of cases.”

“Very amusing, Agent Keen.” He raises an eyebrow back at her before continuing. “Not _you_ specifically. _You,_ as in the FBI, are currently detaining an associate at a blacksite in New Rochelle.”

“Do we have a blacksite in New Rochelle?” It seems Aram is thinking the very same thing as Liz at that moment.

“Funny enough, you do. Now, I’d like to have her brought to the Post Office where it will be more convenient to arrange her release.”

“Her?” Liz asks quietly, with the slightest edge in her voice.

“Cassandra Bianchi.” Ignoring the way her eyes have narrowed into slits, Red checks the time on his Rolex and goes on quite cheerily. “If they get a move on, she should be here in a few hours and out the door by dinner.”

“Reddington, the FBI doesn’t arrange your dinner dates.”

“I assure you, there are certain areas where I don’t need the FBI’s assistance.”

“Your girlfriends aren’t the bureau’s business.”

“But it is in the business of the Blacklist.”

“Is she a blacklister?”

“Not exactly.”

Aram is watching the back and forth as intently as he might a grand slam tennis match, but can’t help wondering aloud. “How exactly do you know about…”

“You really don’t want me to answer that.”

“I do though,” Aram mumbles before the match resumes once more.

“Why are we holding her, Reddington?”

“I presume it has something to do with—”

“So you don’t know exactly?”

“I know enough.”

“Which is not good enough, I’m afraid,” Liz replies, folding her arms resolutely.

With no new cases, things have indeed been quiet within the Post Office, but suddenly the agents and specialists present find any and every excuse to mill about the war room. Cooper’s footsteps descending the stairs are the only sounds as Red and Liz watch each other.

With a sigh, he finally gives in. “Cassandra was in New York to broker a deal for the sale of a rare and exquisite antiquity that we happened to _acquire_ together.”

“Together?”

“Yes.” Her eyes have narrowed again and he shifts his weight back and forth, choosing his words carefully. “Along with a few partners. I’m sure we can clear up the misunderstanding once the transfer to this blacksite takes place.”

“Who are we supposed to be bringing to the Post Office?” Cooper asks once he arrives at Aram’s desk.

“Reddington’s partner in crime is currently being detained in New Rochelle and he’d like them transferred and released by dinner.”

“Dembe?”

“A female partner in crime,” Liz returns calmly, never taking her eyes from Red’s.

“Aram, reach out to Panabaker for information on this detainee,” Cooper instructs and holds up a hand when Liz starts to object. “Agent Keen, it is my understanding that the New York task force specializes in foreign operatives at work here in America. If they are holding Reddington’s associate, there is a reason and I’d like to know what that is and how it involves our CI.”

Suddenly there is an air of excitement as Cooper smiles pleasantly back at their informant and Liz does the same. The fedora is retrieved by its owner without another word and is headed toward the elevator when Ressler steps off, realizing immediately something is most definitely up.

“What’s going on?”

“What is that expression about _a day late and a dollar short_ , Agent Ressler?”

“And what exactly am I late for, Reddington?”

“The first match in what could be a very interesting game.”

The elevator doors close, leaving the Post Office abuzz with activity and Liz wondering just what game they are playing.

* * *

“One day you’re not going to get your way and I hope I’m around to see it.”

“Now, now, Agent Keen. did you have anything else more important to do this afternoon?”

Red already knows the answer to that and is smiling slightly when she glances over with a roll of her eyes. They are on one side of a two way mirror, watching as Aram questions Cassandra Bianchi in the room beyond.

Though what type of interrogation it is with the way they are both laughing she can’t imagine. Liz would swear there is a flush creeping up from Aram’s collar and resists the urge to turn up the volume to hear what it is that’s being said.

“She certainly is charming,” Liz observes, studying the blonde through the mirror. Their detainee appears completely at ease or at least is giving a damned good impression that she hasn’t a care in the world considering her current predicament. “And very controlled.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Care to expand on that?” she goes on, turning his way.

They are interrupted by Cooper and Ressler entering the confines of the observation room, making Red chuckle at his escape from her questions.

“It appears the FBI, NSA, CIA and a few more off the record agencies are very interested in the set of Byzantine nesting caskets you liberated from Turkey.”

Red glances thoughtfully toward Cooper. “I can’t for the life of me imagine why that would be so.”

“From what the case agent tells us, a deep cover CIA operative posing as an archeologist obtained a list of some or all of the foreign agents embedded in the US and was attempting to smuggle it out of Izmir when he disappeared almost two years ago.”

“What does this have to do with the caskets?”

“The agent gave his handler information that the list was hidden within a shipment of antiques on their way to a London museum. I’m sure you would be able to tell us why that shipment never arrived,” Cooper returns somberly.

“I could,” Red muses quietly. “Their connection to this list is unknown to any of those involved.”

“You sure about that?” Ressler asks with his usual skepticism.

“I’ve just said so, Agent Ressler.”

“And nothing about the caskets appeared out of the ordinary?”

“Nothing.” Red turns to Liz in answer to her question. “They were authenticated but beyond that nothing has been done with them. They have been held until…”

“The heat was off so you could sell.”

“That is one way to put it, Agent Keen.”

“That’s the only way to put it. So your associate goes to New York in hopes of striking a deal but finds herself caught in a CIA sting operation.”

“Yes. At this point there is really only one thing to do.”

Cooper, Liz and Ressler don’t volunteer what that _one thing_ could possibly be and remain silent, waiting for Red to continue.

“Go through with the sale.”

“Reddington, the sale was a CIA fake.” He looks at her so patiently she feels the need to take a deep breath. “Okay, I’m assuming there was a plan for the stakeholders to meet if the price was right.”

He gives her a smile and continues with the plan. “We were all waiting to hear from Cassandra. As the architect she will have arranged a meeting place where the reunion of the caskets could take place and be transferred to their new owner in safety and privacy. Let her go and the instructions will be sent. Once we have the set assembled, perhaps we will discover what secrets it is hiding.”

“You think we’re just going to let her walk out of here to run off with you to god knows where?”

“I do,” Red replies matter-of-factly to Ressler.

“Then you’re taking one of us with you. We can’t risk one of your buddies discovering the list before we get a chance to see exactly what is on it.”

“That’s an excellent idea. I think it should be Aram.”

“Aram?”

“Aram?”

“Aram?”

Red looks to the three who have just spoken in unison before pointing over his shoulder. “They seem to have hit it off so I figured he’d be the logical choice.”

Three pairs of eyes look past Red to Aram and Cassandra chatting casually and then back again.

“Although the CIA agent posing as the buyer’s broker was a woman therefore it might be better if Agent Keen accompanies me.”

“Director Cooper,” Liz says after contemplating the situation. “Have Aram compile everything he can find out about these nesting caskets, the Byzantine empire and anything else he thinks pertinent. I’m going home to pack since I assume we’ll be traveling.”

“I take it we have a deal then?” Red asks, looking around the room, extremely pleased with the turning of events. “Harold?”

“Yes. Your associate’s freedom in exchange for the list.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Red dons the fedora he’s holding and makes his way to the door. “If you’d be so kind as to escort Cassandra back to New York after you offer her the deal.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’ll be on my way. Wouldn’t want to risk bumping into her on the way out and blow my cover, as they say.”

“And make sure you call me with the instructions for where to meet,” Liz calls out to him, before he leaves.

“I will, Agent Keen,” With another check of the time, he gives her a mischievous smile. “See, just in time for dinner.”

“He’s impossible,” Ressler mutters as the door closes with a snap.

“That’s one word for it.” Liz gives them a small wave and leaves, heading in the opposite direction of the one that preceded her.

* * *

“Won’t it be a little conspicuous if we arrive together?”

Red looks up as Liz climbs aboard the jet and walks toward the galley where he is pouring himself a scotch. “More than a little which is why I’m dropping you off in Edinburgh. From there we will travel to the island separately.”

“A Scottish isle in the dead of winter, a band of criminals and a stolen antiquity hiding a master spy list. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Agent Keen, where is your sense of adventure?”

Liz steps forward to lift the glass from his hand just as he is about to take the first swallow and does so herself. It burns a path down her throat, but she ignores it as she sets the glass aside and reaches a hand behind his neck, drawing him forward. She tastes like whiskey and the winter wind, eliciting a small moan from him when she kisses him and all rational thought disappears for a few spectacular minutes.

“Enough with the _Agent Keens,_ Raymond,” she whispers, taking in a breath and lets her other hand come up to link with the one over his shoulder. “Do you think they suspect anything?”

“Not a thing.”

“I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if Aram has guessed.”

“I doubt it.”

“Ressler had a look.”

“Lizzy, he always has that look. We were completely professional and incognito as usual.” Raymond brushes his lips gently across hers, until the worry fades from her expression and the tension leaves her body. “Now to more important matters.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She leans forward again, but is halted by his hands on her shoulders holding her in place. “What?”

“Dinner first, then you have some studying to do. Tomorrow you will need a working knowledge of Byzantine antiquities.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I haven’t seen you all week since you’ve been in New York, up to no good, I might add. You failed to mention you were off to meet this _Cassandra_ when you left.”

He chuckles and takes her hands from around his neck and drops a kiss on one and then the other. “Strictly business, Lizzy. There is no need to be—“

“Don’t say it, Reddington.”

“Enough with the _Reddingtons_ ,” he replies with a chuckle, leading her to a seat. “I imagine you didn’t have time to eat so I ordered takeout from that place you like on the street with the shop we went to that day.”

She knows just the one and relaxes back as he goes to putter around the small galley, unpacking their meal. “We have to be back by Friday, remember.”

“I promised Agnes I’d be at her recital and nothing is going to interfere with that,” he agrees emphatically.

After a few minutes he brings her a plate piled high and one for himself. A bottle of wine follows and though she is technically working and though she really does have to brush up on her knowledge of ancient empires, she does not object when he hands her a glass.

“I missed you,” she murmurs when he sits across from her and lets her legs intertwine with his under the small table between them.

“Lizzy, if you keep looking at me that way, everyone will guess.”

“There’s no one here,” she returns with a smile. “Besides I could say the same of you.”

He raises his glass and waits for her to do the same. “To poker faces and secret desires.”

“I’ll drink to that.”


	2. Here And Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

The rain wakes her slowly, pulling her up from sleep entirely against her will. She burrows deeper under the covers, hoping the darkness will let her have a few more hours of rest before Agnes must be at preschool. Raymond will be leaving soon and the thought prevents her from drifting off again. He is always gone before the sun is up. Dinner is an event, one she and Agnes look forward to several times a week, but there are no breakfasts to follow. He is never there in the morning when her four year old wakes to start her day.

Liz reaches a hand out, searching for the warmth of his body but finds only an empty bed. With a grumble that he didn’t wake her before leaving, she opens a bleary eye, searching for the time on her bedside clock and immediately recognizes the dimly lit hotel suite. The drapes are drawn giving the impression of night, but as her vision focuses and the remnants of sleep fade away, she can tell by the light creeping in around the edges that it is a bright, clear day out there somewhere.

The thought of Agnes being an ocean away until the close of the case finally prompts her to slip out of bed and shuffle toward the bathroom to the sound of water she had mistaken for rain. A step or two later, Liz comes to a stop as her memory catches up. Their arrival in Edinburgh early that morning, a brief stopover until they would separate and travel to the island on their own. Her complete exhaustion after staying awake through the night preparing for her role.

“Lizzy, you have your cover story straight?” Raymond had called to her when they walked into the suite and she headed straight for the bedroom. “Lizzy?”

She had dropped her clothes in a heap, grabbed the fluffy robe provided by the hotel, and climbed into bed. “I’m Olivia Martens, antiquities expert in the employ of an as yet unnamed collector with a particular interest in Byzantine artifacts. I had a promising preliminary meeting in New York with Cassandra Bianchi, representative of the collective currently in possession of the nesting caskets. This has led to the proposed second meeting where the set will be assembled for authentication. Did I leave anything out?”

Raymond walked into the bedroom to find her lying on her back with an arm covering her eyes, blocking out the world as she went through the backstory for the umpteenth time. It was only when she felt him sit next to her that she peered out from under her sleeve. “That sums it up nicely. I must say I’m looking forward to meeting you in light of the fact we never had a proper introduction.”

“Very funny.” But it had made her smile and reach out to give his suit jacket a tug. “Come to bed.”

“You need to sleep,” he replied, not mistaking the look in her eye.

“Which I intend to if you’d stop wasting what little time we have and come to bed.”

The sound of that soft laugh and his hand brushing the hair from her face was the last conscious thought before she woke a few minutes ago. Liz resumes her shuffle toward the bathroom with a smile and shake of her head. The robe falls in a cloud of white and she doesn’t stop walking until she has entered the already occupied shower and her forehead comes to rest against Raymond’s chest.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

“It was rather a blow to my ego I must say.”

She looks up to see that he is highly amused. “Oh please, your ego is just fine.”

“It has its moments.”

“Stop grinning at me.”

“Then turn around and I’ll wash your back.”

It is too tempting an offer to pass up so for a few minutes she lets his touch and the stinging spray of the water bring her back to life. “When do we leave?”

“A few hours. It is a quick flight north, followed by a short boat ride, after which we’ll all convene at the appointed hour this evening.”

“Tell me about Cassandra.”

“She’s a master heist strategist.”

“That’s not what I meant, Raymond,” Lizzy replies and spins around to watch him as he thinks carefully what to say.

“What would you like to know?”

“What kind of former lover is she?”

“Lizzy, what makes you think—”

He stops, seeing her expression that is closing in on exasperated with every passing second, and pulls her closer. “The only thing that interests me is the here and now.”

“Considering Madeline Pratt set me up to be detained within the Syrian embassy and sold you out to the King family, it’s a fair question.”

He lets that sink in a moment and finally nods. “You have a point and I can only say that Cassandra isn’t the vengeful type. She will protect her partners while attempting to locate the intel to fulfill her part of the deal.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’ll see, Lizzy, we’ll be on our way home in no time,” he goes on cheerily. “Now since time is running on and we will be back to perfect strangers while on the island, might I suggest—”

“Ordering breakfast?” He has finally coaxed a smile from her and she decides the here and now is much more interesting.

“That too.” He chuckles as her arms go around him and they disappear into the falling water.

* * *

“Wow.”

“Is that for me or the nesting casket?” she asks, approaching the dining table.

Raymond watches as she unconsciously brings a hand to her hair that she has put up for the occasion, reminding him of the King’s auction. With the silent wish that they not have a repeat of the close call they experienced that night, he pours her a cup of coffee and slides it across the table as she sits. “Both, I suppose.”

The small casket with its domed lid and intricate carvings rests at the head of the table. It is exactly the size of Raymond’s palm, but surprisingly heavy. Solid gold, mysterious, and astronomically valuable. It is also not the casket that they need.

“It really is a shame it's not hiding a list of foreign spies.”

“Not that I have been able to determine,” he replies soberly. “Lets hope we can locate a hidden compartment within one of the other five.”

“I feel like we’re missing something.”

“What do you mean, Lizzy?”

“A CIA agent posing as an archeologist? Seems strange.” she muses, studying the box.

“I suppose the educational cover allowed him to dig around without arousing too much suspicion.”

She glances over from the casket to find the grin has returned full force. “How long have you been waiting to make that joke?”

Raymond makes a point to check the time and give his sleeve a tug. “About a day now.”

It is worth it to see her smile as her shoulders relax. He has ordered them a huge breakfast even though it is already past noon, local time, and they are able to enjoy these last few minutes.

“I could get used to this.”

“Which part?”

“Having you around at breakfast,” she replies, taking a croissant from him and nudging a fruit platter in his direction.

“Technically it’s lunch.” He looks up to find that she has gone completely still, studying him with a look he knows very well. “Lizzy, the last thing you and Agnes need is a disruption in your routine.”

“You just won’t allow yourself to become a part of the routine.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“Raymond, we have not talked about this.”

“Haven’t we?”

“Nevermind.” She gives up with a shake of her head, not having the energy for his evasions.

“Well, I hate to eat and run,” he announces suddenly and rises from the table. “But I’m expected on the island by late afternoon for a meeting with the partners. A car will be waiting for you downstairs at three and you’ll arrive around seven or so. The caskets will be made available for inspection where hopefully you will have better luck than I had with this one.”

“I love a well ordered plan,” she replies calmly, taking a last sip of coffee, watching as Raymond gently secures the box in a velvet lined case. “We will continue this discussion later.”

He doesn’t reply, simply drops a kiss on her cheek and would have walked out without committing to a discussion, the thought of which causes a dull ache in his chest. One that is a reminder not to intrude too far and cause their world to tip out of balance after all that has happened.

“Hey,” she stops him with a hand on his arm and waits till he meets her eye. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve thought of you as a disruption.”

He opens his mouth as if to reply but closes it just as quickly, leaving her to wonder what his first reaction would have been. It is a second or two before he places a hand over hers. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Lizzy.”

“Count on it.”

* * *

He had envisioned someplace quite barren, a windswept spit of land facing the Atlantic or perhaps the North Sea. This tree covered island in one of Scotland’s largest lochs is unexpected, but it is the perfect place for concealment and privacy. He was beginning to doubt the presence of a dwelling when he stepped from the boat onto the dock and walked toward the tree line until they were close enough to make out a small trail carved into the forest and a golf cart waiting to carry him within. Cassandra is nothing if not original.

“It’s a short drive to the Manor,” Alfred explains while loading the luggage in the rear.

He hops in the front and the forest soon blocks out the remaining light of the setting sun. “You mean there’s an actual…”

A very short drive apparently. A minute later, they have entered a clearing and come to a halt at the base of a wide series of stone steps leading up to an enormous house.

Waiting for him at the bottom is Cassandra Bianchi, looking remarkably refreshed considering her recent detainment by the CIA. Something he is supposed to have no knowledge of, or the fact their supposed contact for the sale of the caskets is an American undercover agent.

The evening should be interesting and Raymond smiles with anticipation. One that Cassandra returns, having glanced back over her shoulder after a brief conversation with her assistant who has already vanished.

“There he is. The man himself,” she says, walking toward him.

Friendlier than he’d have thought considering how tenuous they left it. He was unsure what to expect and wasn’t the least bit sorry when the instructions stipulated the partners would have a meeting to discuss the sale prior to Lizzy’s arrival.

“Cassandra, you’re looking—”

The kiss is a surprise, as is that oh so familiar voice that reaches him a second later from somewhere at the top of the steps if he’d have to guess.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just going to stroll down to the dock before dinner.”

He pulls back, looking past Cassandra, and follows Lizzy’s slow and deliberate descent.

“And who might this be?” he asks, wondering how on earth she beat him to the island and several other things he hasn’t the time to sort through before she arrives a few feet away. How quickly the game can change. He’ll make sure not to underestimate her again or that glint in her eye.

“Raymond, this is Olivia Martens. She’ll be acting as agent for our prospective buyer.”

“A pleasure,” he murmurs, not oblivious to the fact that Cassandra has turned but left her hand propped on his shoulder.

“Raymond Reddington. _The_ Raymond Reddington,” Lizzy breathes out softly, and lets her eyes drift slowly to Cassandra then back again. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“None of it worth repeating.”

“Hmmm, I guess we’ll see about that.” She gives them a brilliant smile, and has the pleasure of seeing that little muscle in his jaw give the smallest jump in return. “Well, I’ll not interrupt you any longer. See you at dinner.”

Raymond watches as she disappears into the trees, never once looking back.

“Did you hear what I said?”

He turns to Cassandra, having heard nothing over the buzzing in his ears or the racing of his pulse. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said _everyone is waiting_.” Cassandra glances toward the road before proceeding up the stairs. “We’ll have drinks in the library.”

“Excellent,” Raymond says, following a moment later, conceding this round to Lizzy. “I’ll take a double.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little shoutout to a couple of my favorite characters, Olivia Dunham and Carolyn Martens of Fringe and Killing Eve fame with Lizzy's undercover alias.


	3. Heart To Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

One would think they’d never met before tonight, much less had spent a delightful interlude in the shower only a few hours earlier.

Raymond knows that this is the point.

But it doesn’t stop the flash of annoyance that he has been unable to get close to her all evening. Olivia Martens has played her part very well, not showing the slightest intimidation when she strolled into the sitting room of the great stone lodge where they are sequestered, just in time for introductions and dinner. Their party is small if not eclectic and in no time Cassandra had went round the room as Lizzy surveyed the group.

_You’ve met Reddington who acted as bank for our little enterprise. Annika handled security, Mahmoud is a master detonator and Margo can open anything with a lock or keypad. Joko was the muscle, but thankfully none was needed. The plan came together beautifully._

He thinks only he and perhaps Lizzy would discern the momentary tightness in Cassandra’s tone before ushering them into the dining hall. Yes, everything had gone according to clockwork until she was picked up in a CIA sting operation. It goes as quickly as it came. She also knows how to play a part and soon the room is flowing with food and spirits as the raucous tale of their acquisition is laid out for the broker of their prospective buyer. There are no secrets here. The provenance, even a criminal one, will be relayed to the collector, just as his name was handed over by his agent. It doesn’t matter that the identity is a complete fiction made up on the fly by Aram just as they were leaving for the island. It will pass a cursory inspection, certainly long enough for them to locate the list. Everything is as it should be.

Except for Mahmoud leaning a bit too closely to Lizzy, or rather Olivia Martens, all the way through dinner, probably using his supposed loss of hearing as an excuse. Raymond glares down the table to the opposite side where the pair is in conversation and damned if he can make out a word. He’d like nothing more than to—

“Raymond, what are you glowering at? Having second thoughts about the sale?"

He turns back toward Cassandra, but Annika interrupts before he can answer. “These caskets are cursed, Raymond. Tomorrow we sell.”

“Here we go,” he murmurs with a smile.

“Three deaths! Do you want to wait to see that number grow?”

“I’m curious, will this curse lessen or improve the set's value?”

All eyes turn to the antiquities expert and Liz leans back thoughtfully in her chair, stealing a few seconds by taking a sip of wine. “Three is a rather small number to rise to the level of curse, but it will add to the item’s lore quite favorably.”

There is a smattering of laughter around the table, except for Annika who gives them all a withering look. “Let’s get this over with.”

She walks directly to a sideboard where a collection of six cases in varying sizes are waiting to be claimed by their guardians. Tucked inside are the golden caskets, and one by one, they are taken to the library and revealed altogether for the first time in two full years. Liz follows the group and remains at the periphery until they are arranged in order from largest to smallest on a table that has been cleared for just this purpose. She walks around, silently focused on the set, passing close enough to Raymond to hear his soft intake of breath.

“Spectacular.”

There is a collective sigh of relief as the participants disperse through to the adjoining sitting room, letting the broker get on with her job of authenticating each piece. The evening carries on as before, growing a bit louder when the after dinner drinks are passed around. Louder still when Margo takes the lock picking bet that Joko so foolishly makes. It would all make for a rather entertaining weekend with the reunion of the old friends and cohorts if not for the problem of the list.

Raymond eventually moves near the warmth of the fire and a moment later, the trace of her perfume mixes with the smokey haze.

“Any luck?” he asks quietly as Lizzy steps around to the other side of the hearth.

“Not yet.” Her eyes scan the room, making sure they are not drawing anyone’s attention. “Annika keeps glaring at me to hurry up with the appraisal.”

“Well, if you don’t find it tonight, there will be another opportunity in the morning. They are expecting negotiations to go through tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“That was a good trick earlier,” he continues, when she grows silent. “Care to tell me how you beat me to the island?”

“Not particularly.”

“What was it you were expecting to find?”

“I don’t know.” She catches Cassandra’s eye at just that moment and smiles faintly before looking away.

“Lizzy.” Her name is a whisper barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

“Raymond, Agnes would like you to bring her a cow.”

“I…..what?”

“I called her before I landed. When I told her we’re in Scotland, she and Rosa googled and discovered the cows.”

“She asked me to bring her a cow?”

“Yes,” she replies seriously. “I said I would relay the message.”

A glance offers him no insight past her impassive expression. “So all we need is this damned elusive spylist hidden somewhere in those frankly ridiculous caskets, and one highland cow.”

“That’s right.”

“Piece of cake.”

They are startled by a resounding crash, both unsure what has happened as Annika screams, pointing to the figure that has collapsed at her feet.

“Or not,” Raymond mutters, following Lizzy when she rushes forward.

* * *

The massive house is quiet as a tomb.

As soon as the thought crosses Liz’s mind, she wishes it had settled on any other description. There are none to be had, however. Not with Mahmoud’s body lying in the depths of the kitchen, locked in cold storage until they can determine what to do. One thing she has learned, the criminal underworld does not abide by the same rules as her own, There will be no calling in of the authorities, not that they could reach the island with the snowfall growing heavier by the hour. A medical examiner will not attend to the body. There will only be a guess or two as to what has happened before a cleaner arrives to disappear the deceased.

_It must be a heart attack._

_Or his blood pressure. All those explosions…._

No one could say for sure. There was no clear sign of foulplay, nothing to do but remove the body and tell those gathered to take their caskets with them for safe keeping. They would meet at seven and reassess.

Lizzy has no intention of waiting that long.

She gets turned around once or twice, but soon finds the right staircase leading down into the lower level and begins making her way through the darkneed passage.

It is deathly quiet and again she wishes her thoughts would—

The hand reaching out is too fast to elicit much more than a squeak as it encloses round her wrist in a vice-like grip and yanks her into the room to her left. She is pulled firmly against the body hidden within the darkness behind her and she closes her eyes for the briefest second when the memory of the blacksite prison comes back to her.

“Joko?”

“Very funny,” Raymond growls close to her ear before spinning her around, his arms holding her tightly to him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

“Me?” His voice seems unusually loud even to himself and his next words are spoken in a whisper. “I told you to lock yourself in your suite of rooms.”

“Raymond, when have I ever done just what you told me to do?”

“Never, not once.”

“And I told you, for once, why don’t you take your own advice.” His sigh is heavy and Lizzy also takes in a slow breath. “You’re not actually thinking Mahmoud died of a heart attack or high blood pressure are you?”

“Under any other circumstances, perhaps. With one of the caskets containing a list of covert spies any number of nations would kill for, I’d say the chances are highly unlikely.”

“Then let's stop arguing and go look at the body. Now where the hell did you and Cassandra store him?”

“Next room up is the prep kitchen. He’s in the cooler.”

The shiver passes from her body into his own, causing his anger to ebb away. His hands find her face, brushing her hair back that now falls in soft waves past her shoulders, before pulling up the collar of her coat. “There was no need to race me to the island.”

“I wanted to arrive early and see things for myself,” she replies with a small shrug. “It was quite a view.”

“Lizzy, that was—”

“Besides, you’re free to kiss whom you choose. We’ve never discussed exclusivity.”

It is difficult to tell in the dimness if she is well and truly annoyed by the kiss or simply making him pay for it. With another sigh, he surrenders yet another round and takes her hand, leading the way into the room beyond.

“It’s not like I haven’t had other offers,” she continues several minutes later after they have rolled Mahmoud out into the open.

“Excuse me?” It rings out as loud as any bomb the man lying between them ever set off.

“You heard me,” she replies quite casually, leaning over to study the eye under the lid she has pulled back. “Yes, there’s Paul and—”

“Paul in tech ops?” he exclaims as much as his hushed tone will allow, all the while pointing over his shoulder in the general direction of DC. “I bet he asked you to go bowling. It’s all he ever talks about.”

“There’s nothing wrong with bowling. It’s nice to have a hobby.”

“Used shoes does not a hobby make.”

“Look how even the small vessels in the eyes have ruptured. That along with the nasal and oral bleeding really points to a high dose anticoagulation agent.”

They rotate around the body, stopping when they reach the opposite side. “It would have to be a fast acting toxin, administered this morning or late last night.”

“I saw nothing that appeared out of the ordinary at dinner.”

“And he was certainly leaning close enough that you would have noticed.”

“Raymond, he was hard of hearing. Occupational hazard as he called it.”

“Right.”

“You’re jealous.” She can’t help but smile at his expression.

“Lizzy, can we concentrate on the dead man here.”

“Mahmoud would find this highly amusing, He told me how you always get your way.”

“I’m so glad you two were able to share—”

He stops mid-sentence with a finger to his lips, listening to the soft footfalls that have just entered the passageway. Lizzy spins in a full circle before picking up the knife they had found in case a more extensive examination of the body was necessary. She notices Raymond tilting his head in the direction of her hand and realizes she is brandishing a ladle. They make a clumsy trade and she disappears into what she guesses to be the full kitchen beyond. It is in complete darkness and she tiptoes far enough to escape the light entering from the door but close enough to rush back through should she need to do so.

A moment later her grip on the knife tightens considerably as she hears Cassandra’s voice from the other room. “Raymond? It seems we are all having a sleepless night. Olivia is also not in her room and I wondered if she came down here. Have you seen her?”

Liz realizes she hadn’t once thought of Cassandra seeking her out tonight, knowing her to be the FBI undercover agent assigned to retrieve the list. She hears Raymond clear his throat and move on quickly to explain what has been discovered with regards to Mahmoud.

“And you’re sure he was murdered?”

“Yes.”

“But who would—”

“That is the question of the hour. Do you have any thoughts?”

It is a long time before she answers, long enough that Liz is fairly certain Cassandra is contemplating telling him the truth. There is no mistaking the air of regret when she finally speaks, “When did things become this complicated? It all seemed so simple when we were together at the Hotel de la Mer.”

“It was complicated, even then,” Raymond says quietly, causing Liz to lean forward in order to hear.

“Not when I thought there was the chance you would stay.”

“You always knew I would leave. That’s why you told me the Lisbon score was thirty million when it was actually forty.”

“That was only after,” Cassandra muses wistfully. “I suppose I always knew I could never compete with your obligation.”

Liz hears him clear his throat again, knowing they’ve come too near something that he wishes to steer clear of. “We need to deal with our present predicament. Mahmoud was poisoned either on the island or en route.”

“We should gather the others and locate Olivia Martens, then we can determine what to do.”

“And perhaps who the killer is.”

It takes everything within him to leave her in the darkness and follow Cassandra back through the passageway leading to the stairs. Lizzy will no doubt follow and he resists the urge to keep checking over his shoulder. He is so distracted trying to listen for any sign that she is close behind, he is startled to an abrupt stop, finding her leaning against the bannister when they arrive at the third floor landing.

“Out for a midnight stroll?” Lizzy asks innocently, not able to hide her smile of satisfaction, at least to him.

“How did you…”

“How did I what, Mr. Reddington?”

He sighs again, completely flummoxed as to how she beat them upstairs. With a glance toward Cassandra, it’s apparent her curiosity has been piqued and he determines to gain some semblance of control. “Ms. Martens, there is mischief afoot.”

“So I gathered,” she says slowly, looking from himself to Cassandra. “By the dead man in the freezer downstairs.”

“There should be safety in numbers. Cassandra, if you’ll check on Annika and Joko in the east wing, we’ll meet you back here on the landing with Margo.”

She hesitates, watching them a moment, before nodding in agreement. “I’ll also retrieve the caskets for good measure.”

“Good idea.” Raymond wastes no time, turning in the opposite direction and proceeds toward his own room and Margo’s a few doors down.

“When was the Hotel de la Mer? What obligation is she talking about?”

“Lizzy, we don’t have time for this.”

“We have nothing but time since we are now snowed in until tomorrow.”

“Two years.”

“Interesting.”

“Not really,” he replies softly. “I believe the next door up is Margo’s.”

“Raymond.”

He hasn’t looked at her, can’t seem to shake the sense of foreboding at this strange turning of events. Can’t help himself when he feels her hand on his arm, pulling him around. He’d swear there is fire in her eyes, but her touch is a whisper, so gentle as she leans him back against the wall before kissing him, thoroughly, achingly slow.

“What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“No, but tell me anyway.” He draws her closer, stealing a few extra precious seconds from the night. “What are you thinking?”

“That I’d rather you didn’t kiss Cassandra.”

“She kissed me.”

“I know.” With a dazzling smile, she moves to take a step back only to be held in place by his hands at the small of her back.

“In the spirit of frankness, I’d prefer you didn’t go bowling with Paul.”

“Fine. I’ll call him and cancel.”

“You really are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes I suppose I am, apart from poor Mahmoud. I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

He chuckles, regretfully letting go and moving around her, only to have her voice reach him as he knocks on the door. “Hey, she isn’t another one of your girlfriends, is she?”

There is no time to answer before Margo is there, almost like she’s been expecting him. “Reddington, you dapper dog, I knew you’d eventually end up at my door.”

Raymond sighs again, probably not for the final time, in what is fast becoming a very long night. He can hear Lizzy snicker from the shadows to his side and, no matter the circumstance, is glad she is close by.


	4. Midnight Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

“Reddington, you dapper dog, I knew you’d eventually end up at my door.”

“Margo—“

“Although you didn’t have to wait until Mahmoud was—”

“Margo, it’s not like—”

“You know we’ve been over for a long—”

“Margo!”

“What?” For the first time she notices Olivia Martens standing within the shadows of the hallway. “What is it?”

“Margo,” Raymond says slowly. “Mahmoud was murdered.”

“No.”

“Yes. You saw the nosebleed.”

“He fell.”

“He was poisoned with an anticoagulation agent.”

“I don’t understand.”

Lizzy watches as Raymond reaches a hand out, placing it on Margo’s shoulder, steadying her until she grasps what he has told her. “We are gathering everyone together. Bring your casket.”

It takes only a few minutes for her to locate the case and they proceed back toward the landing. A step or two past Raymond’s room, Lizzy realizes they also need his casket and turns quickly to enter the room. It is there on the bed, removed from its velvet lined bag. She retrieves it quickly and walks back to the doorway only to hesitate. The prickling at the nape of her neck makes her turn as memories flash through her mind in an instant. Tom watching her from the window of the brownstone. The quiet that filled the airplane hanger before Solomon showed himself. The director walking toward the box after Ressler locked her inside. Too many moments to count as that familiar sense of danger washes over her in a cold wave.

Her eyes scan the room looking for any sign of disturbance, but there are none that she can determine. Only a sense of dread she can’t explain. She takes an instinctual step forward and hesitates again, remembering that she is unarmed.

“Dammit.”

With a last sweep of the room, she attempts to shake off the uneasy feeling, and returns to the passageway in time to see Raymond at the furthest end. “Lizzy!”

“I’m here.”

They meet halfway in the middle and when he notices the case she’s holding, goes on grimly, “Until we get our weapons from the safe, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be wandering around alone.”

“You're right.”

“What was that?”

With a roll of her eyes and one last look over her shoulder, she links a hand through his arm. “You heard correctly. I agree we should stick together.”

“That was too easy. What aren’t you telling me?”

He knows her too well. Wonders at the worry behind her eyes and finds himself studying the darkness beyond her. All is quiet and he eventually lets her steer them back toward the landing. Perhaps then they can determine what is happening and who the hell it is that is toying with them.

* * *

“ _Lizzy?”_

They stop a bit too suddenly, a bit too obvious when Liz quickly unlinks her hand from his arm. Cassandra is there just beyond the passageway, alone now, and watching them as if the answer to the question that has been bothering her is tantalizingly close. Raymond’s feigned confusion is comical as his head tilts back and forth.

“What was that?”

“ _Lizzy,”_ Cassandra repeats slowly and deliberately. “It sounded like you called her—”

“Uh-”

As much as Liz enjoys seeing him at a loss for a clever response, she decides a rescue is in order. “Livvie.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Livvie. It’s short for Olivia,” It really is difficult not to laugh with the way they are both looking at her. Raymond, heartedly relieved at his escape, and Cassandra not at all convinced. “Which is my name, as you know.”

Several seconds go by before their host lets the matter drop. For now. “Margo and Annika are outside Joko’s room. He’s not answering and the door is locked.”

“Did you tell Margo to wait—”

The sudden piercing scream makes the three jump and turn toward the opposite hallway.

“So that’s a no,” Raymond concludes dryly, leading the way as they rush forward.

It was Annika that they heard and she is there leaning against the wall outside the door. She doesn’t acknowledge them as they rush past to enter the bedroom before coming to an abrupt halt next to Margo. Where the fate of Mahmoud wasn’t immediately evident, there is no confusion as to Joko’s. It takes only a second to comprehend the severed fingers scattered across the floor, the garrott still encircled around the man’s neck and his mutilated hand that was unable to tear it away in time to save his own life.

“He put up a fight,” Liz observes quietly.

“And didn’t know his attacker,” Raymond goes on. “They were waiting for him after he entered and locked the door.”

“Then how did they leave?”

“Most likely through the connecting door to the next bedroom on the other side of that armoire,” Cassandra answers Margo’s question and moves to the bed where Joko’s casket rests on its side.

The prickling immediately returns to the back of Liz’s neck. It is eerily similar to how she found Raymond’s casket that she thinks it can’t be a coincidence. It must be the list they are after, not knowing or caring about the astronomical value of the antiquities alone. Had they been close by? Perhaps only a few feet away, on the other side of the door she now recalls seeing in a similar location to the one here.

A glint of silver catches her eye on the floor near where Cassandra is standing, and recognizing what it is, Liz steps forward to take it and drop it into the casket she’s holding for safe keeping. When she turns, she is met with three criminals staring at her in disbelief.

“What?”

“Ms. Martens,” Raymond says grimly. “I can’t fathom how Joko’s digits could be of any possible use.”

“Oh my god,” Liz mutters under her breath, glaring at him. Taking the item once more from the case, she holds it out for them to see. “It’s a jeweler’s loupe. Joko doesn’t strike me as the type to carry one with him, so it must have been left by the murderer.”

“Alright,” Cassandra says, looking as relieved as the others. “Let’s adjourn to the library.”

“Because no one ever dies in the library,” Annika observes from the doorway. “Five bodies! And you know what that means.”

No one wants to say aloud what they are all thinking. Silently, they leave the room, with Raymond making sure it is locked behind them, each carrying the _cursed_ caskets as they go.

* * *

It is a very different group that enters the library from the raucous gathering earlier in the evening. Only a few short hours have seen their numbers gruesomely reduced. Now there are five that silently pass the desk, depositing the caskets as they move into the adjoining sitting room. Lizzy remains to place them in order and wonder what on earth their next step should be. She had not missed the almost imperceptible shake of Raymond’s head when he walked near. A silent warning to proceed with caution and not show her hand just yet.

Therefore she will remain Olivia Martens and keep up the pretense. “Mr. Reddington, where was your casket stored within your room?”

“In its case on the mantel over the fireplace.”

“I thought as much,” she mumbles, returning to the desk

“What is it?” Cassandra asks from the doorway where the pocket doors have been opened wide.

“I found the casket discarded on the bed in much the same way as Joko’s. My guess is the jeweler’s loupe was dropped in the ensuing struggle.”

“So whatever they are looking for is quite small. Microscopic.”

Lizzy looks up at Raymond’s voice and nods her head. “Something they value far beyond the millions they could broker for the set.”

“But what could it be?”

He knows exactly what it is, of course. Lizzy can only shrug as she briefly catches Cassandra’s eye. All these secrets will have to remain unspoken if his cover as an FBI informant is to be protected.

“We know that whatever it is doesn’t appear to have been found on those two caskets. I’ll start an inspection of the other three using the loupe and perhaps…”

Her words trail off as the task begins and she lets the others carry on without her.

“Is anyone going to say it?”

“We know Annika. The curse.”

“Not only the curse, Margo. We were lured here!”

“I hardly _lured_ you and besides—”

“Might I suggest we all remember that we are friends,” Raymond says calmly. A few seconds of quiet go by where only the crackling of the fire is heard. “Now, might I also suggest—”

“We are not all friends,” Annika interjects. “Who is this person?”

Liz has a good guess _this person_ is none other than herself. She keeps her back turned, but imagines them all glancing in her direction.

“She was vetted as per protocol. Is that not so Cassandra?”

“Yes.”

“So be it.”

The tone in Raymond’s voice leaves little room for argument and again the group falls quiet except for a few murmurings here and there. Liz sets aside the casket with a sigh of frustration. Nothing. Not that she has a clue how the spy list was hidden in the first place. A secret compartment with a latch not visible to the naked eye? She is halfway through examining the next to last casket when the conversation coming from the adjoining room breaks through her concentration.

“16….27…..4”

“And the safe is in the owner’s private office at the rear of the manor?”

“Yes, but, Raymond, I really think—”

“No.”

They all stop and look behind to where Olivia Martens has spoken from the doorway.

”Ms. Martens, we have devised a plan,” Raymond returns calmly, looking at her with such intensity, she feels as if they are all alone.

“You said we should stick together.”

“We are unarmed, as you know, having surrendered our weapons upon arrival.”

“No,” she repeats with a shake of her head.

“We have no choice.” He steps around the couch and walks to within a few feet of her. Almost close enough to reach her and pull her to him.

“I’m coming too.”

“No.” It is his turn to shake his head, letting the finality creep back in his voice.

“You can’t go out there alone with god knows who or—”

“Oh, he’s not going alone,” Margo replies, rising from her armchair. “And unlike you lot, I don’t rely on anything as mundane as a bullet. This is all I need.”

With a flourish, she removes an absurdly large knife from a hidden sheath at her side and gives it a toss, catching it deftly in her other hand.

“I must say, Margo,” Raymond goes on with a smile, averting his eyes from Lizzy’s. “It isn’t very sporting that we had to relinquish our weapons while you kept yours.”

“Over my cold dead body will anyone….well, you get my point.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that." Cassandra steps a few feet away, steering clear when Margo gives the knife another toss. “We’ll wait here for your return and then perhaps make our way to the guest house where my team are quartered. I attempted to reach them earlier but the phone line from the main house is down. I thought perhaps due to the snow but after Joko….”

“I don’t suppose I should bring up the fact they could be in on it.”

“Annika, we shall reconvene and you may bring up anything and everything at that time,” Raymond replies.

“Everyone recheck that all doors leading into these rooms are locked.”

They move off to do as Cassandra has instructed and Lizzy returns to the desk. Waiting. Knowing he will find a way.

“Elizabeth.”

Just a whisper and she closes her eyes, taking it in. “Raymond, don’t do anything foolish.”

“When have I ever?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Lizzy, I promise we’re getting off this island. We have a date Friday night, after all.”

She doesn’t see him go, only feels the chill when the nearness of him fades with his departure. There is no touch of reassurance, nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. He could only leave her with the promise of seeing her child’s dance recital. Something to hold to. Something from their lives together, far removed from the ugliness of what has occurred in this place.

With a breath she lifts the final casket. The smallest and easiest to conceal within her palm. But how could it possibly be hiding the intel of a dead CIA agent? She has only just begun her inspection when a low voice murmurs close behind her.

“You’re the one.”

And looking over her shoulder, Lizzy sees a satisfied smile spread across the face of Cassandra Bianchi that doesn’t quite disguise the calculating glint in her eyes.


	5. Thief In The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

“You’re the one.”

Lizzy forces her eyes away from Cassandra and resumes her inspection of the last nesting casket. Her movements are methodical, measured, with the jeweler’s loupe pressed close. She goes in order as with the preceding five. Underneath first, then each side before moving to the domed lid. Lastly, whatever may lie inside. Looking for any anomaly, any way the dead CIA agent might have hidden the spy list.

“It all makes sense now.”

“Does it?” Liz asks calmly, not looking up.

“I knew about you, of course. We all did, who were closest to him.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She has made it to the lid now, intricately carved, causing her to slow down. The loupe moves millimeter by millimeter, but there is nothing out of the ordinary.

“I very much doubt that.”

Liz glances up and makes a point to look past Cassandra to where Annika is pacing in the sitting room beyond, well out of earshot. “The only thing that concerns you is my status as an agent of the United States Government. The same government that holds your current immunity deal.”

“Yes,” Cassandra replies slowly. “But you’re _the_ agent. The one with the husband. The one he protects.”

“He’s under no obligation to—”

Liz stops suddenly, but not quickly enough to prevent the smile that spreads across Cassandra’s face. “So you were in the kitchens with Raymond. I thought I heard voices when I entered the passageway.”

“We...bumped into one another, nothing more.”

“Oh, I believe there is much more to it than that.”

“Believe what you like,” Liz replies, returning to the casket.

“I can see it now,” Cassandra muses as she pulls a chair closer to the desk and sits. “Your hair was blonde and hidden under a ball cap, but still the same face. It caused quite a stir when he stayed by your side as a fugitive, almost as much as when he surrendered in the first place.”

There is only the inside of the casket left and Liz forces her mind to clear, to concentrate on the task at hand.

“For you. Always for you.”

She moves closer to the light, tilts the box until the gold glows brighter from within.

“I asked him about it once.”

Takes a slow breath, steadying her hand as she methodically moves the loupe back and forth.

“Raymond never gives too much away as I’m sure you know.”

Back and forth.

“He would only say there was a debt to pay. The husband was a threat, one that he mistakenly caused.”

Even slower.

“And so he stays. At least now I know why.”

The air leaves her body and it is several seconds before Liz can draw it in again. Several more before she looks back to the woman who has now grown quiet. Waiting.

“There is no husband, no threat. Not for many years.The last I heard he’s on a boat in Micronesia so if you're searching for the reason Reddington left you two years ago, you’ll have to ask him and leave me out of it. All debts are paid.”

They watch each other until Liz continues her inspection. She hates herself for rising to the bait, for confirming that she was indeed out of sight in the kitchens, but close enough to hear the former lover’s conversation. _And so he stays_. Liz can feel the weight of the words settling in her chest. _At least now I know why._ But Cassandra doesn’t know, couldn’t possibly understand what she and Raymond are to one another.

She’s being foolish for letting it bother her. She’s…

“Oh my god,” Liz whispers, sitting back with a snap.

“What? What is it?”

“I think I’ve finally found the damned list.”

* * *

“Let me see,” Cassandra says, coming around the desk to where Liz is working.

The casket and loupe are passed over in relief. “Bottom right corner.”

“What is that?”

“Some sort of microdot,” Liz replies with a shrug. “The loupe is powerful enough to detect it but not to read the imprint.”

Cassandra passes the items back to Liz with an air of finality. “It doesn’t matter. You have it and my part of the deal has been fulfilled.”

“That may be, but we still need to get off this island safely. Is there emergency communication in place?”

“When one books this type of accommodation, secrecy is the key. There can be no ability to trace the comings and goings of guests.”

“You mean the elite of the criminal world,” Liz murmurs.

“You’d be surprised at the persons that sometimes attend these private gatherings.”

“I assure you I would not.” With a glance at the clock, Liz rises and moves toward the archway leading into the sitting room. “Reddington and Margo should return any moment. Do you have a suggestion as to how we can make contact with the outside world?”

“There may be an emergency link with the groundskeeper or—”

“We have a problem.” Liz interjects quietly.

“Yes, so I’ve gathered,” Cassandra remarks dryly from behind.

“Correction. We have another problem.”

Cassandra joins her in the doorway and the two women stare into the empty sitting room where only moments before, Annika was nervously pacing. Instinctively Liz moves to the fireplace and, without making a sound, retrieves the metal poker. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees Cassandra take a candlestick in hand, moving it up and down, gaging its weight, before deciding it will do the trick as a makeshift weapon. With a nod they turn back toward the door at the far end of the room that now stands open leading to the darkened hallway beyond.

“Wait here, I’m going to check it out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine, just stay behind me.” With a sigh of exasperation, Liz approaches the door, stopping to lean against the wall at one side.

Cassandra arrives a moment later and takes up her stance opposite her, looking over in confusion. “Do you hear something?”

Liz raises the poker in her hand in answer to the question. There is a definite scuffle that seems to be drawing nearer, muffled words she can’t quite discern as her pulse quickens in an instant. It grows louder and there is nothing to do but swing at whatever or whomever might come through that door and hope like hell…

Raymond bursts into the room with Margo close behind him. It is all a blur as they realize they are flanked on either side of the door and immediately turn, brandishing their own weapons. There is the flash of the knife and a gun that rises in the air, higher and higher, at the ready to be smashed into the unknown enemy.

“Raymond?” Liz gasps in confusion, as she stops the poker just in time before it crashes into the back of his head.

“Of course it’s me! Why did you open the door?”

“Were you about to _hit_ me with that gun?”

“You were supposed to wait for us.”

“And you’re supposed to use caution and not barrel into god only knows what situation.”

“Yes, Margo, I quite understand your point after you put me in a choke hold.”

“That was a low blow stomping on my foot to break free.”

“Will you all pipe down,” Cassandra whispers loudly and forcefully, glaring at them until everyone has lowered their weapons, then calmly relocks the door. “If there was any question as to our whereabouts, there certainly isn’t now.”

“I have a feeling they know precisely where we are,” Raymond mutters darkly, glancing toward Liz and receiving an almost imperceptible nod to the question in his eyes. At least she has found the list if nothing else.

“Wait a second—”

“She’s gone, Margo,” Cassandra says quietly.

“She left on her own?”

“Yes.”

They are quiet for a few moments as the realization sinks in and they catch their breaths, until Lizzy’s curiosity gets the better of her. “I see you found the safe.”

“Indeed, and you’ll be happy to know all of our weapons have been retrieved,” he answers with a rueful smile, taking her gun from his holster and handing it over. “The bullets, however, are missing.”

“What?”

“You heard correctly.”

Lizzy walks away, needing to move, to expel some of the pent up energy still coursing through her. “Why are they doing this? They kill Mahmoud and Joko, but leave their caskets. Remove the bullets, but leave the weapons. It’s a game to them.”

“One that is not in the least amusing.”

“There is more to it than the list. Why would someone go to such lengths just to toy with us like this?”

She turns and looks at Raymond in perfect unison with Margo and Cassandra doing the same. He pauses a moment under their scrutiny before asking indignantly. “Why do you all assume I’m the target?”

“Mr. Reddington, your reputation precedes you.” Liz arches a brow at him, before slipping her gun into the pocket of her coat. “You can’t think of anyone that would want to kill you?”

“Many, _Ms. Martens,_ but none like this.”

“Look, we can talk about this on the way to locating Annika,” Cassandra interjects.

“Are we sure she’s not in on it?’

“Margo, I’m not sure of anything, but she seemed genuinely frightened.”

“We should check the boathouse,” Raymond says thoughtfully, “She’ll be looking for a way to leave the island.”

“Wait. Let me get the casket.”

Lizzy moves quickly toward the library as Margo whispers to Cassandra, “What is this about a list?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Is something going on with those two?”

“Also a long story.”

Liz arrives back at the desk and waits for him, just as she did before he left to find the safe. She tucks the casket and loupe into another pocket, taking more time than necessary, feeling him draw near.

“I guess we might as well let Margo in on the secret. Never could keep anything from her.” Lizzy makes no response. She has grown so still, staring at nothing in the distance, he wonders if she heard him at all. “What is it?”

“Raymond, we need to go.”

But she doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away when he runs a hand down her arm to let their fingers link together. “When I saw that opened door…”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for not clocking me with the fireplace poker.” He has finally coaxed the smallest smile from her even though she resolutely remains turned in profile. “No matter what happens, we stay together from this point forward.”

She pushes the doubt from her thoughts that came with the words Cassandra spoke earlier. Lets everything go except the feel of his thumb making the familiar track across her skin.

“Raymond,” she says, finally looking his way. “I’d still bet on us.”

There is no thought to those in the next room or whoever waits for them out in the darkness. Not here with her hand in his. Not yet. Not as he brushes his lips along her cheek, stopping a moment to whisper, “I’ll take that bet. Every time.”


	6. Killing Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating but the conclusion to our murder mystery mayhem should wrap up quickly in the next chapter or two. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

What a sight they must make.

It crosses each of their minds at some point or the other as they make their way out into the darkened hallway, each brandishing their makeshift weapons like a batter at home plate. There had been several minutes of hushed arguing just to get them to this point.

“You are not taking the lead, Raymond,” Cassandra whispered through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t always have to be you.”

“Cassandra, please consider—”

“I’ll go first, since I have the knife.”

“This fireplace poker will do just as much damage.” 

“Look, the simplest solution—”

“No. I’m the one that arranged this meeting place, therefore, the lapse in security rests with my team. I’m taking the lead. You three can figure out the rest.” Cassandra’s tone left no room for argument, and she stepped to the doorway leading from the sitting room, clutching the heavy candelabra tightly in her hand.

With grudging respect, Liz made no other objection and took the spot behind Margo, with Raymond bringing up the rear. This secluded heavily wooded island offers few options for their current predicament. There is the caretaker’s cottage that may or may not have a mode of emergency communication, the boathouse which seems most likely to be Annika’s destination, provided she’s not the killer, something that also crosses their minds. Or they could proceed to the guest house where Cassandra’s team is quartered. Their main goal is to avoid any further decrease in their numbers and they suppose the rest will sort itself out.

Enough lights have been left on, scattered throughout the main level, that they are able to proceed relatively silently toward the solarium at the rear of the mansion. From there they should be able to exit and hopefully find cover within the trees. 

Perhaps the snowfall will shield them from view.

Or hide their attacker from sight until it is too late.

They grip their weapons a bit more firmly and move on resolutely. 

“Oomph….Lizzy, I’m sorry.”

Her abrupt halt in front of Raymond had caused a minor collision and he instinctively reaches out to steady her. She spins and begins searching for something on the floor and the other three follow suit, not knowing what it could be.

“I stepped on something,” Liz murmurs, smiling softly as she spies a glint of gold near Margo’s left foot, and bends to pick it up.

“Well, it seems our uninvited guest took this same route after their visit to the safe,” Raymond concludes, studying the solitary bullet that Lizzy is holding up for view. 

“Make it count.” She hands it to him and watches as he loads it into his weapon, making sure to slide it into the chamber. “I somehow doubt we’ll find another.”

“You’re thinking it was left on purpose.”

“I’m not sure what I think, Raymond.” 

Lizzy turns and nods toward Cassandra who resumes their march toward the rear of the mansion. Considering how careful the killer has been, it seems much too haphazard leaving them with the advantage of even a single shot, but she can think of no reason it would have been done on purpose. Was there a hidden message there and, if so, what could it possibly be?

“I thought your name was Olivia,” Margo comments with a glance over her shoulder toward Liz.

There is a chuckle from the rear of the group and a sigh from their leader who finally mutters, “That is a story for later. First, we should—”

Whatever Cassandra was going to suggest is left unsaid as the mansion is suddenly plunged into complete darkness. It’s a domino effect resulting in another collision followed by several seconds of scuffle and the occasional clanking of metal when candelabra meets fireplace poker.

“Margo, please try not to stab any of us,” Raymond remarks drolly, immediately to Liz’s right side.

She can’t see him, but finds his hand that is already searching for hers, both remembering their promise not to be separated again. 

“Okay, now I’m beginning to get pissed off. Stand clear.”

They heed Margo’s warning and all three take a step back, waiting in the blackness while she rustles about, grunting a time or two before she finds what she is seeking. Suddenly a small flashlight illuminates the group causing Raymond and Liz to reluctantly let go. 

“Anyone thinking it is the storm that knocked out the power?” Raymond asks, looking around their small circle and when no one answers, he continues with a decisive nod of his head. “Neither do I. It’s a trap and they’re coming for us.”

It takes only a second, the smallest nod of agreement from each of them. The knowledge that there comes a time to stay, to fight the enemy, and the certainty that this is most definitely not that time. 

“Let’s go.”

“Raymond, wait,” Lizzy says, heading some instinct from deep within. “They’ll be expecting us at the back.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Go out the front, then left, away from the direction of the boathouse.”

“And run like hell for the trees?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then we will follow your lead.” Cassandra says, stepping aside for Lizzy to move forward with Raymond close behind her. “Margo, kill the light when we reach the entrance hall. No use making ourselves anymore of a target than we already are.”

And with that, they are swallowed up by the night.

* * *

“This is much better.”

“Yes, Margo, you said as much a minute ago,” Raymond replies, turning up the collar of his coat against the biting wind and snow pelting them from seemingly every direction. 

It is too dark to see their wisps of breath that come in quick succession after their retreat to the forest. There had been only fleeting relief that they didn’t run headlong into a trap as they exited the mansion, all too brief as they crouched low and made for the dark shadow of trees toward the side of the mansion. Driven by instinct, they continued circling toward the rear garden until finally coming to a stop. They are relieved to at least be dressed for the occasion. The drafty house had prompted them to don their coats as they wandered about, but, even so, they will need to keep warm and keep moving against the storm.

“Anyone have a suggestion as to what now?” Cassandra whispers after a minute or two.

“It’s warmer in the house,” Margo mutters.

“There’s a killer in the house.”

“For all we know there are more out here.”

“We have a better opportunity to launch a counter-attack now.”

“I don’t relish getting lost in these woods.”

“Margo, it’s an island. If we hit water, we’ll turn around,” Raymond concludes, causing Liz to smile in the darkness, imagining what his expression must be. “Let’s continue on.”

“I wonder if we could draw them out,” Liz muses thoughtfully. “Or distract them.”

“What are you thinking?”

“A small fire or even the flashlight. We could leave it hanging from a branch. We’re only a few feet into the treeline.” She looks toward the darkened facade of the mansion and imagines someone within wondering at the strange light in the distance. “Raymond, I need your tie.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Your tie,” she goes on patiently. “Unless Margo has a blowtorch hidden in that jacket of hers, then a fire is out of the question. We can leave it swinging in the trees and—”

“This is a member’s only limited edition Zegna tie that I’ve worn exactly once.”

“Hand it over.” Raymond sighs loudly, but Liz can tell even in the dimness that he is loosening the windsor knot and can’t help adding, “I would have thought after one particular Zegna tie led to your capture by Mossad that you’d have gone with another brand.”

“Wait, what?” Cassandra and Margo ask in unison, eliciting another sigh from Raymond.

“Never you mind,” he mutters, handing the fine silk to Lizzy. “Get on with it and then we really should be making our way to the caretaker’s cottage to send an emergency message.”

“What’s this then?”

They whirl around at the sudden voice and light from behind. Raymond is the quickest and nearest, aiming his weapon in an instant with deadly accuracy at the lone man standing there staring at them. A surprised yelp follows as he quickly raises his hands, dropping a small lantern into the snow at his feet.

“Who are you?” Raymond asks, taking a step for balance.

“The caretaker.”

“Well, that was easy,” Liz murmurs.

“Why are you skulking about?”

“I’m not skulking about,” the gentleman replies, appearing highly offended. With a glare at the four of them and total disregard for the weapon still aimed at his chest, he bends to pick up the lantern and dust the snow from its sides. “The power’s gone if you hadn’t noticed. I was on the way to the boathouse when I heard you lot whispering. What are you doing hiding in here when there’s a path just there?”

He points over his shoulder and sure enough they can now make out the tall hedgerow that must border the walkway leading to the guest cottages.

“Have you seen anyone else?”

“No. Stopped to have a word with your security team, but no one answered.” The caretaker eyes them all suspiciously before continuing. “Mr. Vries, the owner, doesn’t like trouble on the island.”

Raymond shrugs and lowers his gun. “We don’t always get what we want.”

“Eh?”

“It’s a bit much to go into at the moment but here’s what I need you to do.”

They watch as Raymond steps forward and steers the man around with a smile and jovial pat on the back, handing him a small paper retrieved from his vest pocket. There follows a few whispered instructions ending with the urgent need to lock himself and his wife in the basement. Either he has been rendered speechless or simply used to a ruckus when the criminal element comes to visit is hard to say, but he proceeds without argument.

“Wait,” Raymond calls out softly before the caretaker is out of sight. “Why the boathouse?”

“That’s where the electric comes in. If it’s out there, then the problem is on the mainland.”

“Take it from me, the problem isn’t coming from the mainland.”

Liz watches as the man shuffles back the way he came, disappearing around the hedge, muttering something about criminals and interlopers. She closes the distance to Raymond’s side and leans over, bumping into him. “Do you always carry a note with a number to call Dembe if lost?”

“We’re not lost.”

“Instructions to bring armed reinforcements then?”

“Sometimes it’s necessary.”

“Raymond, when we get off this island we need to have a talk about making that unnecessary.”

“Among other things,” he murmurs, hoping the wind is shielding their words from the others.

“You can talk later,” Margo interjects, making him chuckle when he hears Lizzy do the same. “Where’s the tie? Let’s hang the flashlight and get the hell out of here.”

“The cottage where my team is quartered is nearby.” 

“Cassandra, they didn’t answer when the caretaker knocked. They’re either gone or…”

“Already dead,” she concludes, when Liz hesitates to say it. 

“And it doesn’t appear that Annika came this way or he’d have met her on the path.”

Even in the darkness they can see Cassandra’s nod in response as each possibility weighs heavily on her. She makes no argument when Raymond takes the lead with Lizzy second in line. After switching on the light, Margo steps behind to gently nudge her forward. They leave when the beam begins its to and fro movement as it is carried by the wind.

* * *

They skirt the periphery of the lawn until they have come almost full circle. The world is a hazy shadow, filled with dark shapes and drifts of fallen snow. There is no sign that anything is amiss, apart from the mansion, lifeless as it rises toward the sky and the bodies housed within. It is so dark, Liz has taken a fistful of Raymond’s jacket just to keep up and hopefully not fall flat on her….

“Oomph.” She walks straight into him followed closely by Casandra and Margo. “Raymond, we need to stop doing that.”

“I thought I saw movement.”

He crouches low and they follow suit. Each scan the distance but can make out nothing through the shadows. They advance several steps, crouch and then advance, repeating the cycle until they’re very near the path to the lake.

“You see what I’m seeing?” Margo whispers.

They do indeed. An unmistakable light is visible through the trees and a single thought crosses their minds. It was the killer that cut the power to the island leaving only the boathouse illuminated within the night. 

“Did you see movement toward the lake or away?”

“Toward, but I’m not certain…..Cassandra, wait!"

It is too late. 

“Annika.”

One word and she springs forward to the path. Whether it is suspicion or fear that drives her, there is no way of knowing, but she has gained too much distance for them to intercede. They follow with the snow hitting them full force, obscuring their vision, as they race toward the light that grows larger as they near the water. Cassandra disappears within the open door of the boathouse without slowing as the others clear the trees.

They are seconds behind. 

A few steps at most.

Close enough to hear her gasp and the oath that follows. “You unspeakable bastard.” 

Near enough to see her raise the candelabra, poised to strike as Alfred turns. His surprise mirrors Annika’s, frozen in horrible detail across her face. She might never have seen her attacker, only the flash of the blade that came from behind to sweep across her throat. 

The knife falls from his hand a split second after Raymond fires the single shot they have remaining.


End file.
